Beautiful like Fire
by sue-sylvester-shuffle
Summary: (Takes place in 2x6 and 2x8) The X-Files had been reopened, and Mulder knew he should be happy. But without Scully there, what was the point? • A character study on Fox Mulder after Scully's abduction. (SCULDER.)


A/N: This fic contains some dialogue from the episode "One Breath", season two episode eight.

* * *

The X-Files had been reopened.

Mulder knew he should be happy. He should be celebrating; Skinner believed him, trusted him, was enabling him to continue his work. But without Scully there, what was the point?

He missed her so much. It was a horrible ache that never stopped, a lot like the heartache he felt whenever he looked at her… but turned upside down, inside out. That had been a good feeling. This was the opposite.

When Mulder first met Scully, he had thought that she was just like all the others. Skeptical, condescending, unwilling to listen to his theories. Maybe none of the others had been quite as pretty as she was, but still. That was something he could overlook.

It turned out he'd never been so wrong. Scully _was_ skeptical, but she never treated him like the others did. There was a certain admiration she had for his passion that never let her treat him as anything but her equal.

God, he missed her. He'd never needed her so badly before, and she was gone.

As Mulder sat, he pulled out Scully's gold crucifix necklace and held it in the palm of his hand. It glinted tauntingly in the sun, feeling as heavy as lead. _Come back,_ he thought. _Please. I don't want to have to keep this forever. You have to come back for it._

 _And… for me._

Would it be easier if he had never met Scully? Of course it would. Trusting no one had been Mulder's credo for many years, and letting someone in was hard enough as it was. But Mulder had never been a fan of the easy way out. Dana Scully was the only one who had even _considered_ giving him a chance, the only person who had taken the rumours about him at face value and didn't immediately write him off as just crazy Spooky Mulder. He had been called a lot of names in his life, and 'Spooky Mulder' was far from the most unkind. But it gave the other agents a reason to ignore him and discredit his theories. Who would believe anything said by _Spooky Mulder_ , especially when aliens were involved? They put him in a basement office so that they wouldn't have to see him, and soon they'd forget he was there without so much as a mark on their conscience.

Mulder didn't take offense. After his sister was taken, he had gotten used to being alone. This was no different.

That was, until Dana Scully arrived in his life. Without her, he would still be a lonely laughingstock wasting his days away in a dusty basement office.

With her, he was still a laughingstock. He still worked in a dusty basement office.

But he was not lonely. And he was not wasting his days away, not with her there anyway. No one else in the world lit a fire inside Mulder like Scully could. She made him happy… and he made her happy, too, something he was not used to being able to do. It was also something he was cautious to do, because generally the people Mulder wanted to be happy were the people who ended up the saddest. This led him to push people away, but he was too selfish to keep Scully at arm's length.

 _I'm not giving up on you, Scully,_ he thought. _I can't lose you too. They can't take both of you away from me. So please,_ please _come back._

* * *

Eventually, the universe answered his pleas and Scully turned up at a local hospital. But she wasn't well.

Mulder couldn't even begin to explain the amalgam of emotions he had felt when he first laid eyes on his partner's comatose body. There was relief, because _she was back,_ he could touch her and _she was really there_ ; there was pure, choking anguish, because _what if she never woke up_ ; there was white-hot, blinding rage, because he _had_ to find whoever did this to her, he _would_ find them, he would _kill_ them; then there was shame, because he couldn't stop himself from thinking that if she died, he would be alone again, and _he did not want to be alone._

All of these emotions collided, wrestled, and stormed inside of Mulder; at first, it was unbearable, but soon, he grew numb. Hollow.

Everyone else seemed to be giving up on her. The doctors, the nurses, her own _family._ Not Mulder. Never Mulder. He knew that she was too strong to give up yet, that her time on Earth was far from over.

But she didn't seem to be getting any better, and Scully's sister wanted him to say goodbye.

"Even if it doesn't bring her back, at least she'll know," Melissa Scully had told him. "And so will you."

 _Know_ what? _That I've given up on her?_ Mulder refused to give up.

But he went, anyway, just in case it was his last chance.

Scully was still, so still. They'd taken her off of the respirator. Mulder sat down beside her bed and, tentatively, placed a hand on top of hers. She was still warm.

"I feel, Scully, that…" Mulder began, but trailed off. Coming to the hospital and saying what he was about to say had a certain finality to it. Like he really was, against all odds, saying goodbye to his partner. "…You believe… you're not ready to go." Like a fool, he waited for a response, even though he knew he wouldn't get one. He took a shaking breath, and continued. "And you've always had the strength of your beliefs. I don't know if my being here…" Mulder paused again as emotion welled up in his voice. _No. Not here, not now._ " …will help bring you back… but I'm here."

Having said all that he needed to say, Mulder leaned back, still clasping her hand in his, and watched his partner breathe. Even without the respirator, she was still hanging on. Scully was a fighter, no matter whether she was awake or not.

Mulder, on the other hand, had lost all the strength to fight.

* * *

He was barely through the door to his apartment when he felt the barriers he'd put up around himself breaking down. They'd begun to crack as he took Scully's limp hand in his, and now, they were crashing to the ground. And oh, did it hurt.

He sank down against the wall, feeling the tears that he'd been holding in for too long start to well up. Before he knew it, he was crying, sobbing, though he knew it wouldn't bring her back. Everything was collapsing around him; his work, his apartment, his life, Scully… and, just like always, he couldn't do a damn thing about it.

Scully was as good as dead. If he hadn't subconsciously accepted it before that point, he had now.

Outside, birds were chirping in the morning light. Mulder, lacking the strength to walk over to his bedroom, went straight to the couch. He'd slept fitfully at the hospital, woken up every few minutes by beeping machines and bustling nurses. Now, he slept like he'd been awake for years, with wet cheeks and a broken heart.

* * *

When Mulder woke up that afternoon, he was all too aware of how much he ached, both physically and emotionally. Part of that was his stomach; it had been a long time since Mulder had last eaten, and he was hungry. However, the thought of getting up, preparing something, and choking it down made him feel sick. So he just sat there on the couch, the sunlight filtering in from outside barely enough to illuminate the shambles of his apartment all around him.

The phone rang, and Mulder didn't move to pick it up. It went to the answering machine, and he heard his own voice come from it. "Hello, this is Fox Mulder," said his disembodied voice, the ghost of a man who had control over his life. "Leave a message, pl-"

Mulder grabbed the phone, unable to stand hearing his outgoing message. "I'm here."

It was Scully's sister. "Hello, Fox?" Her tone was bursting at the seams with joy. "This is Melissa. Um, I'm glad you're there. It's Dana. She… she woke up."

For a long moment, everything went quiet. Mulder felt his heart pounding in his chest, and felt the corners of his mouth turning up before the rush of realization and relief hit him.

Scully was awake.

Scully was _alive_.

He let out a breath that he felt like he'd been holding in since Scully's abduction. It came out shaking, fluttering, almost a laugh. "She's awake?"

Melissa laughed too. "Yes. Come on down here, Dana is asking about you."

Mulder reached into the folds of his shirt and pulled out Scully's gold crucifix necklace. "I knew you'd pull through," he whispered.

"Pardon?" asked Melissa.

"It's nothing," Mulder said. "I'm just… really glad she's okay."

* * *

When Mulder entered Scully's hospital room, he found his partner resting, eyes closed, chest rising and falling gently. "Hello, Fox," Scully's mother greeted, looking up at Mulder.

A smile spread slowly across Scully's face. "Not Fox. _Mulder._ " She turned her head, locking eyes with him. Her smile, so warm and natural and loving, was the most beautiful thing Mulder had seen in his entire life.

He couldn't help but smile too. There was so much he wanted to say, but he settled for, "How're you feeling?"

Her smile faltered. "Mulder, I don't remember anything… after Duane Barry." Her breathing quickened; _she's scared,_ Mulder realized. He wanted nothing more than to sit down on the bed next to her and hold her in his arms, but her family was there and he had no idea what they would think. What _she_ would think.

"Doesn't… doesn't matter," he replied, shaking his head. Scully closed her eyes again. Mulder watched her for a moment before reaching into the plastic bag he was carrying. "I brought you a present," he added, trying to cheer her up. " _Superstars of the Super Bowls._ " He handed Scully the VHS tape.

"I knew there was a reason to live," said Scully. Her voice was still shaky, as if she was close to tears.

Mulder smiled. It really was her; smart, witty, fierce Dana Scully. She really was back. "I know you want to get some rest," he said. "I… just came by to see… how you're doing. Say hi." Smiling, he took one of Scully's hands in both of his and squeezed it briefly before letting go. That was enough for now. He turned around, heading for the door.

"Mulder," Scully mumbled before he could leave. He stopped, turned back to his partner. She looked at him for a moment, trying to gather her words together. "I had the strength of your beliefs," she said finally.

It took all Mulder had not to cry right then and there. He walked back over to Scully's bed, reaching into his pocket, where he'd put her crucifix. He studied it for a moment before handing it to her. "I was holding this for you," he told her.

Scully looked at the crucifix, over at her mother, back to the necklace, and then up at Mulder. She was smiling again. Mulder stared down at her, trying to soak in exactly how she looked at that moment. She wasn't wearing any makeup, so Mulder could see the spattering of freckles across her face, like flecks of sunny, orange paint on a clean canvas. There were soft dimples at the corners of her mouth. She really was beautiful, but not in the way Mulder was used to.

Normally, Scully was beautiful in the same way that fire was beautiful; impressive, fierce, and alluring, yet dangerous. There was fire in her red lipstick, in the way she held her gun, in the sharpness of her eyes.

This was a different side of Scully. She was beautiful in her fragility, her quiet strength, her perseverance. Against all odds, she was alive. And that was beautiful in itself.

end


End file.
